


That's What Lovers Do

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Multi, Mystery Character(s), Sex While Talking, Sex in the Dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-21
Updated: 2012-11-21
Packaged: 2017-11-19 04:18:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a long, tough day at work, and all Harry wants to do is relax after work. Things don't go quite as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's What Lovers Do

**Author's Note:**

> This story started when me, jad, and chibitoaster were bored in chatzy one day and we each supplied a word for a challenge. It was supposed to be a drabble. Obviously I fail at drabbles!!
> 
> As always, JK Rowling owns the boys and the world. I just like to play here.

It has been a long, long day at work, and Harry can’t wait to get home. Ron stops him as they leave their shared office, one hand on his shoulder. “I think you ought to Floo home, mate. That was rough in there today.”

Harry wants to glare at his partner, but the expression is muted by the way his eyes are half-pinched closed, avoiding the light. What he needs is a headache potion and a glass of whiskey or three. What he doesn’t need is Kingsley coming down the hallway towards them.

“The report’s on your desk already, sir,” Harry says quickly. “Ron and I are just on our way out. Everything ought to be in order and—”

“I’m not worried,” Kingsley interrupts him, his voice rumbling deep. “I just wanted to congratulate the two of you on a job well done. I know it wasn’t an easy collar today, but thanks to you, we’ve put another one away in Azkaban for now, and he’ll be heading there permanently soon enough. Go home and get some rest.”

Harry huffs a small sigh of relief. By the time he reaches the public Floo, he’s stumbling slightly. He knows, academically, that his feet are attached to his legs. He can see them down there, on the ground, but every step feels awkward, as if he’s not quite touching the floor.

He wonders if it’s some residual curse that has yet to wear off. Merlin, he hopes it’s not.

When it’s his turn at the Floo, he stumbles into it, tossing the powder and calling out for Grimmauld Place. He steps out in a shower of soot that sprinkles down over the fine wooden floor. “Sorry,” he calls out. “It’s just been a hell of a day. Where are you?”

Silence greets him, and Harry frowns. This isn’t normal. He’s late getting home, and usually he’s met with snippy anger when he’s this late. Never silence.

A soft clicking noise catches his attention and he glances to his right. A toy kneazle sits atop the credenza, tied in place while it tries to run. Harry looks where it points—to the door—and follows its lead.

In the hall, a clock chimes, the cuckoo bird managing to point up the stairs rather than straight out as it normally does. The chime stops as soon as he passes by. Fairy lights wind around the banister, twinkling in a pattern that points onward and upward, into the darkness of the third floor.

Pitch dark. Harry casts a _lumos_ , but it does nothing but give him a tiny light at the end of his wand that doesn’t seem to spread into his surroundings. This darkness is magical, and purposefully set. A small smile lifts the corner of his mouth as he moves forward by touch, knowing a surprise must be waiting for him.

“We brought in another Death Eater today,” he says to no one in particular. “A certain snarky blond who thinks he’s better than everyone else.”

“Really.” The voice is low and smooth, and Harry turns in that direction before taking another careful step.

“Really.” Two more steps, then Harry pauses. The light spell does nothing helpful, so he lets it fade and puts his wand away. With both hands, he reaches out. He knows this room, knows it well and has stumbled around in the dark before. But there has always been light from the window, light from the hall… it has never been _this_ dark. “We’ve been watching him for days. He set up in a dingy place on Knockturn Alley, a flat above Pierstall’s Potionary, that place with the black market potions in the back room.”

Harry reaches out, fingers encountering the soft blanket but no body beneath it. The voice in the darkness sounds amused. “Now, now, I want to hear more about your day. Tell me, did the prat protest his innocence? Did you finally prove that he took the Mark all those years ago?”

“Photographic evidence.” Harry turns slowly, knowing he is right next to the bed, knowing that the owner of that voice is maddeningly near. When Harry has his back to the bed, hands grip his hips and he falls backward. He is pinned beneath someone’s weight before he can resist, his hands stretched over his head and pressed into the softness of the blankets. Harry’s breath is rough as he feels hips pressing against hips. “We stripped him.”

“Stripped him.” The hands around his wrists tighten. “Did you enjoy that? Seeing his naked body?”

“Not really.” Harry tries to shrug one shoulder. “He thinks he’s so bloody fit, but he’s not my type.”

“Pale skin, thin, light blond hair, eyes so blue they might be grey. A snarky prick.” There’s a low snort. “I’d think that’s exactly your type.”

“I didn’t care about seeing him naked,” Harry says firmly. On the other hand, he is wearing far too many clothes right now, his trousers tight where his cock is thick and hard. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked, though.”

“We’re still talking about your day.” The weight on top of Harry shifts, his wrists pinned together with one hand wrapped around them, slender fingers holding tightly. Another hand ghosts over his body, picking apart fasteners, slowly opening his clothes. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

“Can’t blame me for trying.” Harry arches up, wanting more of that touch, and makes a frustrated noise when it stops completely. He falls back against the bed. “Ought to have you in our interrogation rooms. You’d have them screaming in no time.”

“Screaming, is it?” A mouth at his throat, teeth scraping over sensitive skin until Harry can’t help but moan. It is the only touch he feels before the weight shifts again. A whispered incantation and Harry’s clothes are gone and the soft blankets twist around his hands, binding him to the bed. “Do you really want to imagine me doing this to your prisoners?”

Hands slide down his chest, tweaking nipples before one drops low, fingers wrapping around Harry’s prick. “Don’t move,” that voice whispers. Another spell, and lubricant slips and slides over Harry’s length, letting that hand move easily, stroking him with aching slowness. 

“I don’t want you doing this to anyone else.” Harry can’t say anything else, can’t think anything else. It may be dark, but he can imagine his lover crouched over him, imagine the intent expression as he wanks Harry. “Don’t stop.”

“Keep telling me about your interrogation. Did he protest his innocence? Did he try to tell you why he behaved as he did as a child?” Words are murmured against Harry’s skin, each one with a puff of warm air that makes him shiver in response.

Harry closes his eyes, fingers flexing and clenching, grabbing hold of the blankets that have him so thoroughly bound. “We stripped him,” he repeats, words soft and slow. “We checked for artifacts and spells and made certain he was absolutely clean of both, then dressed him in Azkaban’s robes. We put him under oath, so he had no choice but to tell the truth. In exchange for not giving him the Kiss immediately.”

“Was he desperately afraid?” The voice is a mere murmur.

“Terrified. He yelled. Called us names. Threatened that his father would destroy us.” Harry’s breath catches and he can’t help himself, arching into that hand, so close that he teeters on the edge. “Bloody hell, just finish me off, will you?”

“Not until your story is done.”

Harry expects the touch to disappear, but it doesn’t. Fingers close tight around the root of his cock, squeezing to keep him from his orgasm while a mouth slides over the head, wet and warm and oh so good. Harry moans, thrusting into it, wanting more even if he knows he cannot come.

“What else do you want to know?” Harry gasps the words, a slow breath shuddering out as he tries to settle himself.

“His father.” The word is tight, clipped. “What of the prat’s father?”

“Dead.” Harry’s voice is flat. “He didn’t know. We just found out ourselves. The useless idiot abandoned his son and fled to France. He was killed during a stupid argument. Finding out nearly destroyed—aggh!” The words end in a strangled groan as his cock slips into his lover’s throat, all way in, the base released. He can’t help himself, spilling bitter fluid as he thrusts. He collapses back into the soft blankets when he is done, breath heavy.

His lover slides up his body, pressed in close, one hand over Harry’s heart. “Tell me his sentence. Tell me what happened to him.”

Harry kisses his forehead. “Zacharias Smith has been remanded to Azkaban for life. Tiberius Smith is dead. Neither can hurt you anymore.”

“Was that the last of them?” A mouth at Harry’s throat, lips against his lips. Harry tastes lemon and whisky, an odd but familiar combination that he’s only ever known his lover to drink.

“Not yet,” Harry replies quietly. “There are two more that we know of, likely a few more beyond that, but Smith’s the worst of the lot. Now that he’s fallen, it won’t be long to get the rest.”

“Is Kingsley still saying he’ll retire when you’re done?”

“And that I’ll be likely to be made Head Auror then, yes.” Harry falls quiet, still uncertain about that.

“Head Auror before you’re thirty. It’s quite an accomplishment.”

“And it’s terrifying, too.” Harry sighs. The blankets release his hands and he moves to hold his lover, letting his fingers skim over skin that he is unsurprised to find naked. “End the darkness spell. I want to see you.”

He hears the whisper and the darkness lifts. The light of the moon that filters through the window seems bright after the depth of magical darkness. While Harry can’t see every feature, he knows the man who hovers over him intimately. He knows that those grey eyes are silvered with pleasure, and that the fair skin is flushed rose and warm. He knows that the pale hair is no longer slicked back, but falls into Draco’s face as Harry reaches for him, pulling him close for a kiss.

“I love you,” Harry murmurs against Draco’s mouth. “You keep me sane. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”

“And I wouldn’t be alive without you.” Draco’s words are plain and simple, his kiss slow and heartfelt. “I should say we’re even.”

“Over and over, every day, saving each other’s lives repeatedly.” Harry smiles, and feels Draco’s lips lift as well. “That’s what lovers do.”


End file.
